


The Smell Of Coffee

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Loves Coffee, Everyone hates magic, M/M, Reincarnation, Sleepy Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 00:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Bucky's favourite part of the day is waking Clint up with a freshly brewed pot of coffee.Written for the Winterhawk Reverse Big Bang. Thanks to the beta from 1electricpirate and the fabulously inspiring art from Naomi, which is on Tumblrhere.





	The Smell Of Coffee

This morning, like most mornings, Bucky had been awake since before dawn, but it only really felt like his day was starting now, with this.

The coffee machine beeped to say it was ready and he pulled the pot out and poured two mugs, set them on the table, glanced at the time and then sat down to wait.

Once he’d decided he’d spent enough time living in Steve’s rooms at the Tower and needed his own space, there had only been one empty set of rooms in the section of the Tower reserved for the Avengers. He hadn’t been too sure about sharing a floor and a kitchen with Hawkeye at the time, but now he couldn’t imagine wanting to have anyone else as a neighbour.

There was the creak of a door and Clint emerged, dragging a blanket around his shoulders and blinking sleepily. He slumped into the seat opposite Bucky and reached for a mug, curling up around it and just breathing in for a moment.

Bucky glanced back at the clock. Just over a minute had passed. He must have been half-awake already.

He took a sip of his own coffee and watched Clint, not bothering to keep the smile off his face. It would be at least ten minutes before Clint was awake enough to pay attention to details like that. For now, Bucky could get away with taking in his rumpled clothes, messy hair, and bleary expression of coffee-related pleasure without needing to school his expression to hide how much this was his favourite part of the day.

It took Clint most of the first cup of coffee to wake up enough for human interaction. When he was at the stage of making eye contact, Bucky schooled his smile to something more appropriate and said, “One day, some villain’s gonna realise that coffee is your Achilles’ heel and use it to take us all down.”

“Anyone tries to take my coffee from me and I’ll make the Hulk look like a kitten,” said Clint. Bucky noticed that his hands had tightened on the mug as if worried someone was going to try and take it from him.

Bucky leaned back to grab the pot off the counter. “No need to look at me like that, man, I’m here to provide you with coffee, not take it away.”

Clint held his mug out and Bucky topped it up.

“And for that, you have my everlasting gratitude and appreciation,” said Clint, giving Bucky one of his blindingly beautiful smiles. Bucky couldn’t keep himself from smiling back, probably a bit too soppily, and for a moment they were just caught there.

Fuck, it would be so easy to lean in and kiss Clint, taste the coffee on his lips and feel the sleepy warmth of his skin. Clint would welcome it as well; Bucky knew exactly what that kind of look meant when a guy gave it to him, not to mention the other looks he’d caught Clint giving him over the last few months. He was waiting for Bucky to be ready, though, that much was also obvious. Clint was giving him time to figure out exactly what he wanted now that he had free will again, which was just gave Bucky another reason to feel like this about him. Accepting that he was allowed to want things, and not just want them but also _get_ them, had been a struggle for Bucky when he'd first come to the Tower.

Except, it had been a few months now, and Bucky was feeling more settled in his skin than he could remember since before he went marching off to war in 1944, and he couldn’t keep using that as an excuse to not make a move.

“Great,” said Bucky. “Does that come with any tangible benefits?”

Clint raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a wickedly sexy smirk. “I’m sure I could find some _benefits_ to offer you.”

God, that was the exact same look Dan used to give him when he flirted. Bucky felt his smile falter and hid it by taking another sip of his coffee, but it was too late. Clint’s smirk faded into a less sexually charged look and he settled back, pulling the blanket around himself tighter, clearly giving Bucky space to pretend they hadn’t just been flirting.

“Does that mean you’re making breakfast?” asked Bucky, trying to salvage the moment.

Clint snorted. “If you want a bowl of cereal, sure. Otherwise… Hey, FRIDAY, is there anyone in the main kitchen?”

“Captain Rogers, Mr Stark and Mr Wilson,” said FRIDAY. “Mr Wilson is making pancakes.”

Clint’s face lit up. “Jackpot,” he said, and stood up. “Tell Sam to make enough for us, I’m gonna get some clothes on.”

He headed off, still clutching his mug, and Bucky let him go. Maybe tomorrow morning would be the morning he’d finally kiss the guy.

****

The first time Bucky had met Dan, he was having a drink in a hidden basement bar known as Daphne’s, which had been a speakeasy during Prohibition and had maintained its secrecy even after alcohol was legalised so that a certain kind of fella could meet there without worrying about running into the cops.

He was on a stool by the bar, watching a handful of guys on the dance floor, when Dan came right over to him, sat down on the next stool over, and opened up with, “Since you’re the hottest guy in here, I figured you’d be the best one to get shot down by. Can I get you a drink?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “What makes you think you’re gonna get shot down?”

“Experience, mostly,” said Dan, still smiling as he gave a self-deprecating shrug.

He was a few inches taller than Bucky and skinny in the same way that lots of guys who grew up during the Depression were. He had mousey brown hair and his nose was a bit on the large side for his face, and Bucky could imagine other guys taking one look at his lanky shape and deciding against it.

His eyes were sparkling with life though, and his smile was infectious, and Bucky wasn’t picky about appearances. He was more interested in what a guy was actually like. He drained the last of his glass.

“I’ll have another whiskey, thanks.”

Dan had just stared at him for a moment, then twitched and signalled at the bartender with a swift gesture. “Okay, not gonna lie, wasn’t expecting that. Not sure I know what to do if a guy actually says yes.”

“You’re meant to charm me with your wit and intelligence,” said Bucky.

“Oh god,” said Dan. “That ain’t gonna go well.”

Bucky took his new drink from the bartender. “Well, if you don’t seem to be getting anywhere in a bit, you can always ask me to dance,” he said, then shrugged. “And if you _are_ getting somewhere, you’ll know cuz I’ll ask _you_ to dance.”

“Okay, said Dan. “I can go with that.” He picked up his own drink and grinned at Bucky. “I kinda love dancing.”

“Me too,” said Bucky. “Guess we’ve already got things in common.” He smiled at him over his glass, putting on his own sexy smirk. “Seems like it’s going well for you.”

“Well, whoda expected that?” said Dan. “I’m Dan, by the way.”

Bucky shook his hand. “James.” There were thousands of Jameses in Brooklyn, so it always seemed safer to use that in a place like this rather than Bucky, which was a bit more unique. Just because Daphne's was a safe haven didn't mean he could afford to trust every guy in there.

That evening had gone more than well for both of them. They’d ended up going back to Dan’s room that night, stifling their laughter so that they wouldn’t be heard through the thin walls. They met up at Daphne’s again the next weekend, and the one after as well.

****

The Avengers alarm went off while they were arguing about who should be clearing up after breakfast. Clint leapt up immediately, yelling, “Last one to the quinjet has to do the dishes when we get back!” and then ran off.

Bucky followed as quickly as he could, ducking around Tony as he called for his suit, clearly hoping to beat Clint using repulsor flight, but he didn’t have a hope. By the time the suit had assembled and he’d made it through the building, Clint would be warming up the engines. The only way to beat him was a proper, old-fashioned sprint, powered by super-soldier legs.

Bucky hurled himself up the stairs after Clint, pounding on his heels. Clint didn’t glance back but he clearly heard him, because at the top of the stairs he threw a kick back at Bucky, forcing him to stop to avoid it and giving Clint a precious few seconds lead.

“Bastard,” gritted Bucky, putting his head down and sprinting down the corridor.

They made it to the door to the hangar at roughly the same time, both trying to fit through together and getting briefly stuck. Bucky considered using his metal arm to push Clint aside and get ahead, but that seemed like cheating.

Vision was already inside, probably having just phased up through the floor, and was watching them with his head tilted to one side. Bucky ignored him in favour of shoving harder at Clint.

There was a sudden heavy pressure on his shoulders, and Natasha somersaulted over his head, narrowly fitting under the doorframe and landing in a roll that ended with her hand slapped against the quinjet’s hull.

“Fuck,” said Clint, as she turned to grin at them. Bucky forced his way forward and got ahead, diving forward to slap his hand next to Natasha a split second before Clint did the same.

Tony flew in through the hangar door and landed beside them, and Bucky noted that he’d been right about the delay caused by waiting for the suit. He opened the mask to roll his eyes at them, but knocked his knuckles against the hull as well.

“Who we still waiting for? Cap? Sam?”

There were currently eight Avengers on the team, but Wanda was taking an extended leave of absence in order to stay at Westchester and train her powers with Professor X.

The quinjet door opened and Steve stepped out, already in his uniform. Tony gaped at him. “How the _hell_ did…?”

“No time for games, guys, Roman legionaries are attacking Dallas,” he said.

“Of course they are,” said Clint. “Where else would they be?”

Sam strolled in, fully suited up, and everyone turned to look at him. “No need to look at me like that,” he said. “I made the pancakes, I ain’t clearing up.”

Heads swivelled to Tony instead, who sighed. “Hey, FRIDAY, do me a favour? Get one of the bots to go up to the kitchen and clean up while we’re gone?”

“Are you nuts?” asked Clint as they piled onto the quinjet. “You’re gonna have nothing but broken dishes when we get back.”

“You don’t have to wash broken dishes,” Tony pointed out. “I can always buy new stuff.”

Bucky opened his locker and started pulling out his gear as the quinjet door shut and Sam started on the pre-flight checks.

Clint shrugged. “I mean, I guess I might be tempted to do the same if I could afford it.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Bucky. “You hang on to your old stuff way past the point where it should be replaced, I’ve seen your rooms.”

Clint opened his mouth as if to protest, then consider for a moment and shut it. “Okay, but if it were _Tony’s_ dishes...”

“Oh sure,” agreed Bucky. “Who wouldn’t smash Tony’s shit up, given half a chance?”

“Seriously, guys, are you going to let me brief?” asked Steve.

Bucky turned towards him with his best I-am-paying-attention face. From the look Steve gave him, he knew better than to believe it.

****

It wasn’t just Romans. When was it ever just Romans? By the time they’d saved Dallas from the Romans, a Mongol horde, a confused cluster of Napoleonic infantry and three Samurai who were more trouble than the rest of them put together, Bucky was pissed off, sweaty, and smelt more of horse than he wanted to admit to himself. It didn’t help much that everyone else was in the same boat.

They cornered the guy who was causing the trouble, some guy in an actual cape who proclaimed himself to be a master of the mystical arts and started in on a speech about how they should cower before him. He got about half a sentence in before Steve punched him out.

“Fucking magic,” said Tony, flicking open his face mask. “I hate fucking magic.”

Clint hopped down off the car he’d been shooting off, lowering his bow and popping the arrow he’d had trained on the guy back in his quiver. Bucky wasn’t quite sure how it was that they both wore similar black combat outfits, but when he looked in a mirror all he saw was practicality and battle-readiness, while on Clint…

Well, he didn’t let himself spend too long looking during fights, anyway, because it was too easy to get distracted. The bad guy was unconscious though, and the historical figures had all disappeared when he passed out, so Bucky didn’t see any harm in taking a moment to eye the tight lines of Clint’s pants over his legs and the curve of his shoulders as he collapsed his bow down.

Clint gave the guy a nudge with his foot. “All the other magic disappeared when he passed out, but his necklace is still glowing,” he pointed out. The guy had a large gold necklace in the shape of an eye that was emitting a green glow. Clint crouched to look at it.

“Don’t touch,” snapped Bucky.

“Not if you paid me,” agreed Clint, and he stood back up and stepped away.

“We’re gonna have to call Strange, aren’t we?” said Tony, with a long sigh.

Steve gave him a commiserating look. “Sorry.”

Strange turned up as soon as they called, took one look at the unconscious body, and sighed. “He was an apprentice of mine, until he decided to steal from me.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “so we’ve spent the day clearing up your mess? Good to know, I’ll make sure you get the bill.”

Strange ignored him, which Bucky could understand. He tried to ignore most of what Tony said as well.

“What have you done to this?” asked Strange quietly to himself as he crouched to look at the necklace. He pulled it over the guy’s head and Bucky had to fight the urge to take a step away from him. Clint didn’t bother fighting the urge, quietly moving back until his shoulder was pressed against Bucky’s. Bucky had to resist the temptation to take his hand, or loop his arm around his waist or, really, just reach out and touch him in some way.

No, that wasn’t right. If he wasn’t ready for more, there was no point in pushing the boundaries and confusing the situation. That wasn’t fair on Clint.

Strange took his apprentice and the amulet off through one of his fancy wormhole things, and the others glanced around at the mess that had been left behind. Even without the bodies of historical figures littering the place, Bucky had a feeling that the good people of Dallas weren’t going to be happy.

“Okay, so, here’s a question,” said Clint. “You’re bringing back a historical army with which to conquer a city. Why the hell do you go for Romans?”

“Maybe he had a leather fetish?” suggested Natasha. “Those kilts were a bit distracting.”

They started heading back to the quinjet. “I’m not sure I’d pick an army based on how sexy their armour was,” said Sam.

“I would,” said Tony. “I so totally would. I mean, I also wouldn’t use it for an army, that seems very small-minded when you can just hire a bunch of mercenaries with AK-47s and they’d probably be more use to you.”

“Nah,” said Clint, turning to walk backwards so he could grin at the others. “C’mon, you know what would be awesome? A troop of English longbowmen. Set them up with some fancy modern armour-piercing arrows and you’d be totally set.”

“I’m surprised you’re not just going straight for Robin Hood and his Merry Men,” said Natasha.

Clint rolled his eyes as he turned back around to open up the quinjet. “Not for a full-on city assault, c’mon, they were totally guerrilla warfare experts.”

“And not real people,” put in Bucky, earning himself a glare.

“Wash your mouth out,” said Clint as he headed inside, going straight for the pilot’s seat. “They were totally real, and they wore green tights and sang songs about how awesome they were.”

“Sure, okay,” said Bucky, glancing over at Steve, who just shrugged at him. “I’m beginning to think it’s probably best you don’t get your hands on a time-travelling magical artifact.”

“Spoilsport,” muttered Clint. “Me and Robin Hood and the longbowmen were gonna have such a good time.”

****

When they got back to New York, it was dark.

“I’m thinking, take out,” said Tony. “Pizza, even. Am I right, Hawkeye?”

Clint shook his head, stifling a yawn. “I mean, sounds great, definitely get enough so I can have some cold for breakfast, but I’m bushed. I’m going to bed.”

Bucky couldn’t remember Clint ever turning down pizza. “You okay?”

Clint gave him a vague wave. “Yeah, just, some of us aren’t super-powered, and it turns out fighting Mongol hordes really takes it out of you.” He headed for the elevator and disappeared, leaving Bucky to frown after him.

“Cheer up, Inspector Gadget, I’m sure you can survive one evening without your sniper bro,” said Tony.

Natasha turned a raised eyebrow at Tony. “Inspector Gadget? Really?”

“Go, go gadget arm,” said Tony, vaguely punching the air. “Yeah, I don’t know, guess Clint’s not the only tired one today.”

Bucky didn’t see Clint again until the next morning, when he shuffled out of his room looking even more half-asleep than usual. He put his hands around his coffee mug then leaned forward to rest his forehead against the table and groaned.

Bucky resisted the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair by clutching at his own mug. “I’da thought you’d be wide-awake this morning after going to bed so early. Did you sleep right through?”

Clint nodded without lifting his head. “Think I musta slept too long,” he said. “I feel groggy as shit, and I had the weirdest dream. One of the ones that feels so real it takes you a while to shake it, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Bucky, grimly. Most of the dreams he had like that were nightmares, usually featuring shit that had actually happened to him.

Clint looked up, pulling himself upright with what looked like great effort. “Nah, not like that,” he said. “It was kinda fun, actually. We were Mongol warriors. There was a civil war over the succession and we were putting down rebels. I spent a lot of time being impressed by how great you were on a horse.”

Bucky snorted. “Never been on a horse in my life, sorry to disappoint.” He pictured Clint dressed up like the warriors they’d fought yesterday. “I’m guessing you were the best archer, yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” said Clint, smugly. “I mean, that’s always true, no matter where or when I am, right?”

Bucky acknowledged that with a nod. “So, the real question is, just how shit was Tony on a horse? Because I can’t imagine any animal being happy about having him on its back.”

“Tony wasn’t in the dream,” said Clint. “It was just us two. And, you know, the rest of the horde, but they weren’t people I actually know.”

Right, okay. Bucky took a careful sip of his coffee to hide his reaction to Clint dreaming about just the two of them.

“Ugh,” said Clint, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s gonna take me most of the coffee pot to wake up today, I think.”

“Want to go spar after breakfast?” asked Bucky. “That always wakes me up.”

“Sure,” said Clint, draining the last of his mug and getting up to refill it. “Just don’t kick my ass too hard, yeah?”

“No promises,” said Bucky, grinning at him.

****

Bucky pretty much always won their sparring sessions because super-soldier and metal arm, but it was usually pretty close. Clint had a lot of unexpected moves and was flexible in ways that made him tricky.

Well, tricky and kinda distracting, if Bucky were being honest, but he’d built up his resistance against the way Clint looked when he leapt up into a high kick or twisted his body into various holds. He only let himself picture all the ways those skills would be transferable in the bedroom late at night, when it was just him, his hand and his imagination.

Today, though, Clint seemed to be lagging a little bit, moving slightly too slowly and not hitting as hard as Bucky was used to. The fifth time Bucky knocked him on his back within a couple of minutes, he stepped back.

“You okay, man?”

Clint shook his head as if trying to get rid of a fog. “Sorry, I think I’m still half-asleep.”

“Still?” asked Bucky.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” said Clint. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Do you want to stop?” asked Bucky.

“Nope,” said Clint, and threw himself at Bucky, taking advantage of his distraction to bowl him over and press him to the mats. “We don’t exactly have a job that allows for sick days, right?”

“Right,” agreed Bucky, flipping them over so that he was on top, then hopping back up to his feet before he could let their proximity distract him. “Bring it on.”

He went easier on Clint after that, though. He wasn’t particularly interested in beating up a sick guy just to prove that he could.

Clint disappeared off to his room to have a shower when they were done. Bucky watched him go, noting how he leaned against the wall of the elevator as the door closed on him.

“FRIDAY, can you keep an eye on Clint, let me know if he needs any help?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

He spent the rest of the day trying to console himself with the knowledge that she hadn’t said anything so Clint must be okay, but it didn’t really work. Clint wasn’t exactly the best person about asking for help, after all, and Bucky had seen him hiding just how hurt he was after a fight way too often to think that he wouldn’t do the same when he was ill.

When everyone gathered for dinner and there was still no sign of Clint, he let his worry get the better of him. “FRIDAY, is Clint in his rooms?”

“Agent Barton is currently asleep on his sofa,” said FRIDAY.

“Man, the life of a secret agent is so hard,” said Tony, sitting down and starting to serve himself. “Wish I could get away with an afternoon nap.”

“No, you don’t,” said Steve, taking the seat beside him. “You barely sleep at night.”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, okay, fine, sleeping gets in the way of building shit, but the _idea_ of naps sounds nice.”

“I hate naps,” said Sam. “I always wake up feeling worse than I did before I went to sleep.”

Bucky couldn’t remember taking a nap since the 40s. He didn’t seem to need sleep in the same way that he used to, or that other people did. “Should we wake him up to eat?” he asked, as the food started to disappear from the the serving bowls and onto people’s plates. “How long has he been asleep?”

“Agent Barton has been asleep for just over three hours,” said FRIDAY.

Natasha frowned. “Three hours?” she repeated. “In the middle of the day?”

“He thought he might be getting sick this morning,” said Bucky.

“Apparently, he was right,” said Tony. “FRIDAY, give him a shout, will you? Let him know we’re having dinner if he wants to come up.”

There was a pause, during which Bucky forced himself to sit still in his chair and not run off to go make sure Clint was okay. He had too many memories of Steve looking pale and washed out, wrapped in a blanket and swearing he was okay while he coughed up a lung.

“Agent Barton is on his way up,” said FRIDAY eventually, and he made himself relax. He was letting himself get worked up over nothing. People got sick, and then they got better again. Just because Steve nearly hadn’t didn’t mean he needed to let his worry take control.

Clint was rumpled in a way that made Bucky want to smooth over his hair when he came in and slumped into his seat. “Sorry, guys,” he said, cracking a yawn. “I was deep in a dream about being a fisherman.” He sent a wink at Natasha. “I told you I’m good with boats.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” said Tony. “Just, you know. Next time we’ll leave you sleeping and eat your share.”

Clint snorted as he started to serve himself. “Right, Bucky would totally let you get away with that.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” muttered Bucky, shoving garlic bread in his mouth to try and hide that he’d kept some to one side in case it all went before Clint came up.

Clint’s beaming grin meant he hadn’t fooled him.

****

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry, Jamie,” said Dan, rushing into the diner and dropping down into the seat opposite Bucky. “The traffic was all backed up around Prospect Park, it took me ages to get through.” He took in a breath, then pulled on one of the blinding smiles that had made Bucky fall in love with him. “Hi, I’m Dan,” he said, holding a hand out to Steve. “I swear, I’m not usually late to stuff, don’t judge me on a first impression.”

“Steve,” said Steve, shaking it. “Don’t worry about it. We were kinda late ourselves ‘cause of how long Bucky spent primping his hair.”

Oh man, the little shit.

Dan darted a look at Bucky’s hair. “Well worth the delay,” he said, then went faintly pink, glancing at Steve with a look Bucky recognised all too well. No matter how much you were reassured that you could trust someone, it was still kinda terrifying to actually say these things in front of a stranger and know you were giving them ammunition.

Steve just rolled his eyes. “Great, now I’m never gonna get him out of the apartment on time, thanks for that.”

Bucky ignored him. He kicked gently at Dan’s foot, because there was no way he could get away with taking his hand right now. “You look pretty damn good as well.”

Dan half-laughed, hand self-consciously going to his hair. “I’m a mess, you mean. Somehow I always end up looking a mess.”

Bucky actually liked Dan’s usual dishevelled look. It made him think about all the times that he’d got him alone and properly messed him up.

Dan glanced away for a waitress. “Have you guys already ordered? I should get something.”

“Don’t worry,” said Steve. “Bucky ordered for you.” He sent Bucky the amused look that said he really was going to spend this entire lunch being a shit. Bucky probably should have seen that coming. “He’s a bit of a mother hen like that, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve kinda been getting that,” agreed Dan. He nudged Bucky’s foot in return. “Thanks.”

“I just figured it would be better than having to wait for you, that’s all,” said Bucky.

“Sure,” agreed Dan. He glanced at Steve. “That’s totally it, right?”

Steve nodded earnestly. “Oh yeah, definitely.”

Dammit, why the hell had Bucky thought it would be a good idea to introduce these two?

****

Everyone watched a movie after dinner. Clint settled on the same sofa as Bucky, then fell asleep within ten minutes, slumping sideways until his head was resting on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky very carefully didn’t move, and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Clint was warm and heavy against him, and Bucky’s arm itched to move around him and hold him close. He resolutely kept it where it was.

Clint shifted and made a sleepy murmur against Bucky’s shoulder, something either garbled by sleep or not in English to start with. Natasha glanced over and raised an amused eyebrow. She looked at Steve, who followed her gaze. Bucky gritted his teeth and glared back at the two of them. Steve’s amusement grew, and he pulled out his phone, angling it at Bucky and Clint for a photo.

Bucky glared as hard as he could, but he couldn’t move without waking Clint up. He couldn’t do anything other than just sit there while Steve took a photo, then grinned at it. His fingers danced over his phone for a moment, followed by a cascade of soft beeps from around the room.

Sam pulled his phone out, glanced over at Bucky, and sniggered. Bucky let out a long, slow breath to stop himself from getting up and throwing himself at Steve and wiping that smug little grin off his face. Why the hell had he been cursed with such a punk as his best friend?

Clint slept through the whole film, and through everyone getting up and heading off to bed afterwards. Bucky sat where he was and stubbornly ignored all the smirks aimed at him as they headed out, until it was just him and Clint, and Steve quietly clearing up around them.

Bucky glanced down at the top of Clint’s head and thought about just staying there all night, then gently nudged Clint with his elbow to wake him. Clint stayed firmly asleep, so he nudged him again, a bit more firmly. Clint let out a mumble under his breath and turned into Bucky’s shoulder, clinging on tighter to his shirt.

Steve stifled a snigger as he went past, heading into the kitchen with a handful of glasses.

Right, okay. “Clint. Movie’s over, wake up,” said Bucky, shaking Clint’s shoulder. How the hell did a secret agent sleep so deeply? Shouldn’t he be on a hair trigger in case of assassins?

Hell, he’d fallen asleep against an assassin, did he just have no self-preservation instincts at all? Well, okay, it was Clint, so probably not. No one who ate that much food off the floor could possibly have any self-preservation instincts.

“Clint,” Bucky said again, louder.

Clint let out a mumbling sigh and his eyes flickered open. He said something else that Bucky didn’t catch because it definitely wasn’t English, but he caught the last word. _Gabriel_. Who was Gabriel, and what the hell had he done to make Clint say his name in that breathy, happy tone?

He stamped down hard on the jealousy as recognition flooded back into Clint’s eyes and he straightened up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ah fuck, I fell asleep again? Sorry.”

“No problem,” said Bucky. “How’re you feeling? You getting sick?”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just exhausted.” He yawned, only belatedly putting a hand over his mouth. “Ah, fuck it, I’m going to bed. Hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning.” He stood up and stretched, and Bucky had to avert his eyes from the pull of his muscles.

“Night,” he said, and got a vague nod before Clint shuffled off towards the elevator.

Bucky let out a long breath and let his head fall back against the sofa. Fuck.

“So,” said Steve, coming back through from the kitchen and sitting down next to Bucky. “When are you gonna make a move? You know he’s waiting for you, right?”

“Yeah, I kinda got that,” said Bucky, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “So…?”

Bucky turned to glare at him. “Maybe I ain’t ready yet.”

Steve shook his head. “You’ve been ready for weeks. If it’s that you don’t trust yourself, you need to look at how far you’ve come. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not that,” said Bucky. “I know I’ve got my head together now, as much as I’m ever likely to, I reckon, it’s–” He paused. Steve stayed quiet, giving him the steady, I’m-here-for-you look that made Bucky give in and open up to him every damn time. “Fuck,” he muttered. “It’s not my head I’m worried about not being ready. It’s my heart.” He curled over so that he could hide his face from Steve by knotting his hands in his hair. “How am I even meant to count the time it’s been? Was it really seventy years ago that I last spoke to Dan? I’ve only been awake about a decade of that, and I only remembered him less than a year ago.”

“Oh,” said Steve, in a quiet voice that meant he hadn’t even stopped to consider that. Bucky couldn’t really blame him. Steve and Dan hadn’t met more than a handful of times, and Bucky hadn’t exactly felt like it was the kinda thing he could talk about much, even with someone he was as close to as Steve.

The whole thing had felt like a bit of a dream, even after he’d known Dan a couple of years. He could remember how unbelievable it had felt that there could be someone so perfect for him, someone who wanted him back just as much. Even with the hiding and the sneaking around together, it had seemed like one of those perfect things that only got spoiled if you tried to put them in words.

Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shoulda thought. I spent enough time watching you write letters to him when we were in the middle of nowhere.” 

The last letter Bucky had written to Dan had been the day before he fell. He must have still had it in his pocket when Hydra picked him up. He wondered if they’d read it, and felt sick at the idea.

“He died in 1970,” said Bucky. “I looked him up. He ended up in the Navy, on a Destroyer in the Pacific right up until the end of the War, then he went back to Brooklyn and just…” He waved a hand in the air. “Just was a mechanic there until he died. There’s nothing much more about him anywhere, I had FRIDAY look.” Dan had just lived out a quiet life, like the one Bucky had wanted to share with him, before the war changed everything.

He had to take a deep breath to stifle back the grief. Fuck, Hydra had taken that from him as well.

Steve’s hand stroked over his shoulder in a circle. He didn’t say anything, which Bucky was grateful for. What was there to say?

He choked back the tears that threatened and took a deep breath. “I don’t even know if he found someone else. It’s not like he’da been able to be open about it or leave a record anywhere.”

He supposed he wanted Dan to have had someone, and not have spent his life alone, but he didn’t want to imagine some other guy getting all the things Bucky had wanted.

“I wrote him a letter,” said Steve. “After you fell. I wrote to your folks, and I wrote to him.” He shook his head. “By the time the letters arrived, they’d have already got the news that I’d died as well.”

“You wrote to him?” asked Bucky. “You barely knew him.”

Steve shrugged. “He was your fella. He was important to you and… Well. It kinda felt like he was the only one who might know just what a loss it was.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. He cleared his throat and sat back up, trying to pull himself back under control. “At any rate, it just feels like I need a bit more time before I get into something new. Don’t wanna fuck things up with Clint by jumping the gun, you know?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Steve. “I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

Well, that was almost worth having dredged all this emotion up.

****

Bucky didn’t sleep so well that night, probably because of all the emotion and memories that the conversation with Steve had churned up. He put the coffee on the second it was late enough for Clint not to get mad once he was awake enough to realise what the time was, hitching at the waist of the pants he slept in and belatedly wondering if he should have at least thrown on a shirt.

Clint didn’t come out of his room. Bucky made it halfway through his own mug before worry overtook him and he got up, grabbing the coffee pot and heading for the door to Clint’s rooms.

There was no sound from inside, so he pushed it open with his fingertips.

Clint’s living room was cluttered with the usual amount of arrows, discarded clothes and empty coffee mugs, but Bucky’s eyes skipped over all of it and fixed on Clint instead. It looked as if he’d come in last night, pulled off his shirt and pants and dumped them on the floor, then collapsed face first onto the sofa and stayed there.

Bucky ran his eye over his naked back appreciatively, right down over his boxers to the strong lines of his thighs, and then felt like the worst kind of creeper. “Clint,” he called, heading in with the coffee pot so that it felt like he had a purpose there other than perving on a teammate in his sleep. “Wake up, it’s time for coffee.”

Clint didn’t move. Bucky frowned at him, taking note of the slow, even movement of his chest, then set his hip on the arm of the sofa and vaguely waved the pot in Clint’s direction. “C’mon, rise and shine.”

Still nothing. Bucky hesitated. He’d been around enough guys with combat experience to know that waking them up was a tricky business. He didn’t know the best way to wake Clint up if the smell of coffee wasn’t working.

“Clint. Clint!” he called a bit louder, then carefully tugged on the corner of the cushion Clint had tucked under his head.

Clint made an unhappy noise and pushed his face into it farther.

“C’mon, Hawkeye, wake up and smell the coffee,” said Bucky, and apparently that was enough, because Clint rolled over and gave him a baleful look.

“I was enjoying that dream,” he said.

“Yeah?” said Bucky. “More than you’d enjoy some coffee?”

Clint considered that, then reached out for the pot with both hands. “Gimme.”

Bucky handed it over, then watched as Clint realised he wasn’t going to be able to drink it without sitting up, attempted to pull himself upright, gave up, and just settled for cuddling the pot instead.

“You want it in a mug at a table?” asked Bucky.

“Nah, this is good,” said Clint, breathing in the steam.

Bucky snorted with amusement. “Yeah, okay. You feeling better today? More awake?”

“Lemme drink this and I’ll let you know,” said Clint, finally pulling himself upright so he could drink straight from the pot. “I mean, I don’t feel sick, anyway. Just sleepy.”

“And if I suggested going to a doctor, because even after spending all yesterday asleep you still clearly came in here and just crashed out without making it to bed…”

“No doctors,” interrupted Clint. “Seriously, I’m not sick, I’m totally fine.” He sat up straighter and widened his eyes as if trying to prove how alert he was.

Bucky gave him a long, careful look. “Right,” he said. Clint didn’t look sick, which was a point in his favour, he just looked like he always did at this point of the morning, bleary-eyed and not completely with it. Only, without a shirt on.

Bucky probably shouldn’t be enjoying that bit as much as he was.

“Look,” said Clint. “I’m going into SHIELD with Nat today. You know that if she senses anything wrong she’ll drag me to medical, right?”

That was true. “Okay, fine,” said Bucky. “I’ll let it go.” He stood up. “I’m gonna make eggs, want some?”

“Definitely,” said Clint. “Give me ten minutes to shower and find some clothes.”

“Oh, don’t rush into covering up on my account,” said Bucky, allowing himself a long, lingering look over Clint's chest.

Clint rolled his eyes at him, but didn’t bother hiding his pleased smile. “Seems like there’s a dress code for breakfast, then,” he said, running his own eyes over Bucky’s chest. “Eggs and abs sounds like a great combo.”

Bucky snorted. “I’ll get right on it.”

****

Clint seemed back to his usual self by the time they’d had breakfast, so Bucky forced himself to stop worrying and just get on with his day.

Sam had talked Steve into going to a VA event with him, which meant Steve had made eyes at Bucky until he gave in and went along as well. It was in Brooklyn, so once it was over, they dragged Sam out to Red Hook to get a coffee, walk along the waterfront and complain about every tiny change that had been made to the area over the last seventy years.

By the time they’d done that and got back, it was pretty late in the afternoon. Bucky headed down to his room to get changed into sparring clothes, but he didn’t get that far. As he passed by the doorway to the kitchen, he stopped dead and just stared.

Clint was collapsed over the kitchen table, fast asleep with his hands locked around a mug of coffee.

“Oh, come on,” said Bucky. “Seriously?! Clint! Wake the fuck up!”

Clint woke up with a jolt, glancing around as if he had no idea where he was, then staring at Bucky for a long time before he croaked, “Bucky,” as if pulling the name out from the very depths of his memory.

“You fell asleep _on the table_ without even finishing your coffee,” Bucky pointed out. “You can’t seriously tell me there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Clint blinked at him, then looked down at the coffee mug. He let go of it and rubbed his hands over his face. “Ugh,” he said. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you this one. I only sat down for a moment.” He glanced at his watch. “And that was over an hour ago. Crap, no wonder I’m stiff.”

Bucky pointed a finger at him. “You’re going to a doctor or I’m gonna drag you there myself.”

Clint opened his mouth as if to protest, then his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, okay. Just, tomorrow, okay? It’s too late to go bothering SHIELD medical staff for a non-emergency.”

He had a point. The SHIELD doctors could be pretty scathing if they thought you were wasting their time. “Okay, fine. But if you start feeling worse, or anything else goes wrong…”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint, standing up with a wince. “I’ll let you know, Mother Hen. Aw, man, I would not recommend sleeping on a table, by the way, every muscle aches. I’m gonna have a hot bath.”

“So you can fall asleep in it and drown?” asked Bucky.

Clint considered. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He gave Bucky a smirk. “You could always come and supervise.”

Bucky was still trying to come up to a response to that when Clint blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, that was– Sorry. I think I’m still half asleep.” He scratched at the back of his head. “I guess I’ll just have a shower.”

He disappeared into his rooms, leaving Bucky to let out a long breath, and not think about how tempted he was to take Clint up on his offer.

Except, when he pictured Clint naked and stretched out in the bath, it just kept blending into a memory he hadn’t known he had: Dan hunched in a hip bath in his room, splashing water over his chest and teasing Bucky about how long it took him to do his hair.

For a moment, he was hit by the sense memory of the smell of Brylcreem. Dan had loved his hair, although he’d hidden it behind a stream of teasing. The truth had been obvious from how often his fingers had found their way into it, combing through when they were lying together, curled up in one of their tiny beds, or ruffling it when he wanted to make a point.

Bucky brushed his hair back off his forehead and thought about getting it cut, but there didn’t seem any point if he wasn’t going to be tempting Dan’s fingers into sinking into it.

A wave of grief hit him, and he had to take a deep breath and push it back down. Dammit, shouldn’t this be getting easier at some point?

He resolutely turned to go to his rooms and get changed. He’d go beat the shit out of a punchbag until he felt better.

****

It worked well enough for an hour or two, but when it came time for dinner and Clint was AWOL again, all the worry rose right back up.

“FRIDAY, is Clint asleep again?” Bucky asked as he set the table.

“That’s correct,” she said. “Do you want me to wake him?”

Bucky felt frustration clench up his shoulders. Should he just let Clint sleep? He clearly needed it. But then, even if he were sick, he still needed to eat.

He set the last plate down. “Nah, I’ll do it.”

Clint had made it to bed this time, although he was still clothed. Bucky stared at the slack expression on his face, then set his knee on the bed to shake Clint’s shoulder. “Clint. Clint! Wake up.”

Clint muttered something and tugged on the blankets as if trying to pull them over his face. Bucky caught them and kept them in place.

“Clint, you need to wake up and let me know if you want dinner or not.”

Clint made a sad noise and blinked his eyes open. “Ich war die ganze Nacht mit den Pferden auf. Du bist dran.”

Bucky had just enough German to get directions or demand a surrender, but he recognised ‘Pferden’. “No horses here, what the hell you been dreaming?”

Clint blinked a couple of times, then groaned and curled over. “Fuck, sorry. Been having some really vivid dreams, it’s taking me a bit to pull out of them. I thought we were in a stables in Königsberg.” He rubbed at his face. “Some of the horses were sick. We were worried.”

“Yeah, mostly I’m just worried about you,” said Bucky. “Have you even been awake eight hours over the last couple of days?”

Clint shrugged, straightening out into a stretch and then sitting up. “I don’t know,” he said. “If it helps, it still feels like I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours looking after sick horses.”

“That doesn’t help at all,” said Bucky. “Makes things worse, in fact.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” said Clint. “I already agreed to go see a doctor, you don’t need to keep nagging.”

Bucky forced himself to let it go for now and stood back. “Okay, okay, fine. So, are you coming to dinner or what?”

“I’m coming,” said Clint, pushing the blankets aside and standing up. “And then we’re gonna do something that might keep me awake for a few hours. Go to the range, maybe.”

Hanging out at the range with Clint was one of Bucky’s favourite activities. He shrugged. “Sure, if you think it’ll help.”

“Awesome,” said Clint, grinning at him.

Clint made it to nearly nine o’clock before he admitted defeat. “I’ve got to just go and shut my eyes, sorry,” he said, packing up his bow. “I can barely see straight.”

Bucky let him go, mostly because he was pretty sure Clint would just fall asleep standing up if he didn’t. “FRIDAY, let SHIELD medical know that Clint will be coming in tomorrow morning,” he said, then turned back towards the target. He spent another couple of hours there, working off some of the tension that had been building up ever since it became clear that something wasn’t right with Clint.

He hated this. Nothing made him feel more useless and impotent than watching people he cared about getting sick. He’d spent too much of his youth knowing that Steve was one bad winter away from dying and that there’d be nothing he could do to prevent it. And then Steve’s mom had died, just faded away over a couple of months while Steve became more and more stoic about the whole thing and Bucky could do nothing but watch helplessly.

Clint wasn’t dying though. You didn’t die of being sleepy all the time. Did you?

What the hell would Bucky know if you could? He wasn’t any more of a medical expert now than he had been in the 30s.

He couldn’t sleep for thinking about it, and ended up wandering out to grab the tablet Tony had given him when he'd first moved in, but which he’d barely used since. There was a way to search this kinda thing, right? Everyone seemed pretty confident that all useful information could be found online somewhere.

 _Sleeping too much_ he typed into the search engine, and settled in to read through the results.

****

It was only the third time they’d arranged to meet, but Bucky was already feeling the thrum of anticipation that came before seeing someone you were falling for. He’d gotten a table by the dancefloor and already ordered them drinks when Dan came in, falling into the seat opposite as if his strings had been cut.

“Okay, just so you know, I’m not actually late, you’re just freakily punctual,” he said.

“Maybe I just couldn’t wait to see you,” said Bucky, grinning at Dan for a moment before he properly took in the grey sheen to his skin and the way he didn’t seem able to sit upright. “Are you okay?”

“Totally fine,” said Dan, and then started coughing as if he were about to bring up a lung.

Bucky was up out of his chair and crouching at his side before he’d even realised he was going to move. “Shit, you’re not okay. You’re sick.” Close up, he could see sweat beading on Dan’s forehead under his bangs. He rested a hand on his face to gauge his temperature and winced at the hot, clammy feel of his skin. Not good. “You should be at home in bed.”

“I’m fine,” said Dan, weakly. Bucky gave him the glare that he’d developed for Steve saying the exact same thing. Dan crumbled much faster than Steve usually did. “Okay, fine, I’m sick as a dog, everything hurts, and the idea of my bed is beautiful shining thing, but I couldn’t not come. You’da sat here thinking I stood you up, I couldn’t do that.”

Bucky probably would have been crushed. He wasn’t sure how he’d already become so emotionally invested in this guy when he usually didn’t spend more than a couple of evenings with a fella before he found someone new.

“Well, I know that’s not true now,” he said. “C’mon, I’m taking you home and making you tea.”

Dan let out a wheezy laugh. “And they say the third date is the sexy one.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he helped Dan up. “Are you saying the first two weren’t? Because I’d haveta disagree.”

“Oh no, they were plenty sexy,” said Dan. “Actually, any date that involves you just, you know, existing, is pretty damn sexy.”

Bucky slung an arm around his waist as they headed for the exit. Once they left Daphne’s he’d have to shift it to something a little more platonic, but he wasn’t going to act like they were just buddies until he absolutely had to.

By the time they got back to Dan’s room, he was visibly flagging. Bucky got him settled into bed and heaped his spare blanket and both their coats over him to keep him warm while he made tea.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” said Dan. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Sure,” said Bucky, setting two mugs out for them. “I’ll just leave you here alone to be cold and sick and miserable without any help. I’m that kind of an asshole.”

Dan let out a long sigh. “Okay, fine. You’re a different kind of asshole.”

Bucky grinned at him over his shoulder. “Your kind of asshole, hopefully.”

“Well, yeah,” agreed Dan. “Definitely.”

Dan managed most of the tea, then slumped back against his pillows, looking even worse than he had at Daphne’s. “Oh man, I feel like shit,” he said. “I hate being sick.”

Bucky took the mug out of his hand and felt his forehead again. Not good. “I hate you being sick,” he said, going to damp a cloth for him.

“I’m sorry,” muttered Dan, and there was a feverish edge to his voice that Bucky really didn’t like. “We’re meant to be dancing right now. I’m letting you down.”

“You’re really not,” said Bucky, settling beside him on the bed to press the cloth to his forehead. “You’ll be letting me down if you don’t rest up and get better, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” said Dan. He reached out and patted at Bucky’s cheek. “You’re so sweet, you know that, James?”

Bucky snorted, taking his hand and tucking it back under the covers. “Yeah, not sure that many people would agree with you.”

Dan seemed to have got stuck on his name. “James. James, James, James.” He blinked at Bucky. “Don’t know that it really suits you, you know.”

“Okay, I think you need to get some sleep,” said Bucky, hoping like hell that he wasn’t going to keep getting worse. There was no way either of them could afford a doctor.

Dan settled down further under the covers with a sigh, but he didn’t stop talking. “There’s so many Jameses, you should have something special. Like you are.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I don’t know about special.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Most people call me Bucky,” he offered, because this thing with Dan had already lasted longer than any of his other brief arrangements with guys, so maybe he deserved to have more than the name Bucky used for camouflage.

Dan stared at him. “Bucky,” he repeated. “The hell?”

“My middle name’s Buchanan,” Bucky explained, but that didn’t wipe the look off Dan’s face.

“Your parents saddled you with _Buchanan_ , and you decided to run with it?”

Bucky nudged his shoulder with his finger. “I thought you were saying I should have something unique?”

Daniel shook his head. “There’s unique and then there’s ridiculous.”

“Watch it,” said Bucky, smoothing his hand over Dan’s hair. “What’s your middle name, then?”

Dan shook his head. “Ain’t got one. There were eight of us, my parents ran out of ideas by the fourth.” He let out a tired sigh that turned into a coughing fit. Bucky helped him sit up and rubbed at his back until he was done, thinking about all the times he’d done this for Steve.

“Ah, fuck me,” muttered Dan, slumping sideways against Bucky. “That hurt.”

“Do you get sick a lot?” asked Bucky, thinking of Steve’s resigned look when he got ill.

Dan shook his head. “Nah, I’m usually fit as a fiddle.” He settled back down, pulling the blankets up close around him. “I hate this,” he added. “I hate being sick, and just feeling pathetic and weak. I wanted to be dancing with you, James, I love dancing with you.”

“I like dancing with you, too,” said Bucky, putting the cloth back on Dan’s forehead. “Just rest up now and we’ll be able to do it sometime soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Dan with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, James.” He frowned. “Bucky. Nope. Jim? Jimmy?”

“That’s my grandpa,” said Bucky.

Dan made a face. “Jem? Jimbo. God, no. Jamie?” He paused. “Yeah, that’s it. Jamie.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest that he already had two perfectly good names, then caught sight of the happy smile on Dan’s face and gave in. “Yeah, okay, fine. Jamie. Now, seriously, get some sleep.”

Dan’s eyes slid shut. “You gonna stay?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, running his hand over his hair again. “Gonna be right here.”

“You’re the best,” said Dan, sleepily. “My Jamie.”

Bucky tried to ignore the warm glow in his chest. It was too early for him to be feeling like that about this guy.

He settled himself into Dan’s bed, shifting so that he was pressed up against Dan’s body and hopefully keeping him warm, then reached out to snag the newspaper lying on the nightstand. It was three days old, but it would give Bucky something to do while he kept an eye on Dan and made sure he was okay.

****

After a night of reading everything the internet had to say about exhaustion as a medical symptom, Bucky found it hard to wait until the normal time before he made coffee. His mind was buzzing with all the horrible things that sleepiness could be a precursor for. Clint could be _dying_ and no one had the slightest clue. He had to get him to a doctor, as soon as possible.

He didn’t bother waiting to see if Clint would wake up on his own. He made a big pot of coffee, grabbed two mugs, and went straight to Clint’s bedroom.

Clint was sprawled out on his stomach, taking up almost all the bed and not wearing anything more than boxers again. Bucky was distracted from enjoying the view by checking him over for any symptoms of what might be wrong with him, but he couldn’t spot anything other than his deep sleep.

Bucky set the mugs down on the nightstand as loudly as he could, then filled them both from the pot.

“Clint,” he said. “Clint, wake up! There’s coffee, and then we’re going to the doctor.”

Clint didn’t move. Bucky frowned at him and tried again louder. “Clint! Quit dreaming and face real life!” He set the pot down so that he could poke Clint’s shoulder.

Clint drew in a sharp breath and rolled onto his back, hands coming up defensively in front of his face. Bucky took a step backwards, out of range, as Clint stared at him with wide eyes and a look of terror.

Bucky couldn’t remember ever seeing anything close to that look on Clint’s face before, not even when they’d been in the middle of a fight they all thought they’d lose. What the hell had he been dreaming about?

A moment passed, then Clint blinked and awareness came back to his eyes. “Aw, fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck. That was a bad one.”

“You okay?” asked Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” said Clint, pulling himself upright against the pillows. “Just, the fucking British Empire, right?”

Bucky had no idea what that meant, but he nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I mean, most empires, right?”

Clint clicked a finger and pointed at him. “Exacta-fucking-lutely.” He spotted the coffee and his whole face lit up. “Oh man, perfect,” he said, reaching for a mug.

Bucky picked his own mug up and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m guessing that means you’re still having funky dreams.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “I don’t know where my brain is getting it all from, feels like I’ve got the History Channel playing 24/7 in my head. I didn’t think I even knew enough about Indian history to dream about it.” He shrugged. “I mean, to be fair, it was probably about as accurate as a Hollywood blockbuster, it’s not like I’d know.”

“Did you have unlimited ammo?” asked Bucky, because that was always his biggest peeve with modern films.

Clint snorted. “Nope. I definitely ran out of that. We both did. Ended up fighting with bayonets, and then you–” He stopped and shook his head. “Well, it didn’t end well. Probably a good thing you woke me when you did.”

“I was in this dream as well?” asked Bucky.

Clint actually looked caught for a moment, then he cleared his throat and shrugged. “I think my subconscious has latched onto your mother-henning over this sleep thing. You’ve been in pretty much all of them.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to respond to that so he took a sip of coffee. Clint was staring down at his own mug as if not wanting to see his reaction.

“I’m guessing the fact that I’m about to force you to go to medical isn’t going to help, then,” said Bucky in the end. It seemed a reasonably safe response.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m going today, I promise.”

“You’re going now,” corrected Bucky. “They’re expecting us in about an hour’s time, so you’ve got time to shower and get dressed, then we’re heading over there before you fall asleep again.”

“I’m not gonna–” started Clint, but he cut himself off when Bucky glared at him. “Yeah, okay,” he said instead. “You know, I’m starting to get a lot of sympathy for what Steve had to put up with before the super-soldier thing.”

“Steve was a punk back then,” said Bucky. He considered that. “And you’re a punk now.”

“And you’re always and forever an asshole,” said Clint, raising his mug in a toast.

****

Clint only made two bids to distract Bucky on the way to SHIELD, which was less than Bucky had expected.

“Oh, hey, there’s a great brunch place on the way, we should totally stop there,” said Clint as Bucky walked his bike out.

“No,” he said, flatly.

“C’mon, I promise I won’t fall asleep,” said Clint as he put Bucky’s spare helmet on, “I just really want waffles. And bacon. Ooh, and mimosas!”

Bucky remained resolute. “You really want to see a doctor after you’ve downed a bunch of mimosas?”

Clint considered that for a moment and then deflated. “Yeah, probably not. They get so fucking judgy about day drinking.”

Bucky swung himself over the bike. “We’re going straight to SHIELD,” he said. “We can get lunch after, if you want.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” said Clint, climbing on behind him and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky often rode with someone else behind him, but somehow it never felt the same when it was Clint as it did when it was Steve or Natasha. He could feel the solid presence of Clint’s body pressed close up against his back and the solid knot of his hands clasped together over his stomach, and his mind couldn’t seem to stop coming up with other positions they could be in where Bucky would get to feel those.

They weren’t even all sex related, although that was a constant thought in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop himself imagining that he’d just crawled into Clint’s bed that morning to join him for a nap, and Clint had draped himself over Bucky, cuddling in close and holding on.

Like Dan used to, because neither of them had a bed that was big enough for two men and he’d had to hold on to keep Bucky from falling out.

Bucky clenched his hands on the handlebars and sped up a little. He had to find some way to stop comparing Clint to Dan, or he wasn’t ever going to be in a position to start something new.

When they got to SHIELD’s New York headquarters, he parked up and shut the engine off, but Clint didn’t immediately move away.

“You know, there’s a park opposite, we could go see if there are any dogs being walked who need to be petted,” he said.

Bucky nudged backwards with his elbow. “Quit trying to stall. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can keep you awake for longer than an hour so you can actually appreciate brunch or dogs or whatever else you wanna get up to.”

Clint let out a long sigh, but did get off the bike. “There’s not going to be anything wrong with me,” he muttered. “Just, I don’t know. I’m getting old, or maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last week and I’m catching up or something.”

“Or you’ve got narcolepsy, or an iron deficiency, or depression, or some kinda brain tumour,” said Bucky. 

Clint pulled off his helmet so that he could stare at Bucky. “Brain tumour?” he repeated. “Why the hell would you jump to that?” His eyes widened. “Oh man, you didn’t google medical symptoms, did you?”

“Thought that that was the best way to find out anything these days,” said Bucky.

“Okay, no,” said Clint. “Not true. I mean, mostly true, sure, but not ever true for medical stuff. The internet will always tell you you’ve got cancer, doesn’t matter what’s actually wrong with you.”

Bucky considered that. “But it still _might_ be cancer,” he pointed out.

Clint groaned. “Oh god, Bucky, don’t do this. I’m fine, it’s not going to be anything serious.”

“Okay,” said Bucky. “Prove it. Let the doctor check you out and tell me that.”

“Jesus, fine,” said Clint, turning towards the medical unit. “You’re paying for lunch when it turns out to be nothing, though.”

Bucky could live with that.

****

It took a couple of hours for the doctor to run all the tests he wanted to do, most of which Bucky spent on an uncomfortable chair in the waiting area. He thought about going down to SHIELD’s gym to kill time, but he didn’t really want to be that far away from Clint. Whatever Clint might say about the inaccuracy of the stuff he’d read online last night, there had been a lot of it. Surely it must be accurate in at least some cases? And what if one of those was Clint’s case?

When Clint finally came out, he announced, “You owe me lunch,” and Bucky felt a surge of worry flood out of him.

“There’s nothing wrong?”

“Nope,” said Clint. “Clean bill of health. Doctor just reckons I’ve been trying to do too much. You know, cuz I try to keep up with super-soldiers and an android and the rest of it.” He shrugged. “I mean, sounds like crap to me, because I’m an incredible specimen of the peak of human perfection, but whatever. I haven’t fallen asleep yet today so maybe he had a point.”

Bucky snorted as he stood up. “Sure, okay, Peak of Human Perfection, let’s get lunch.”

And if he made sure that Clint ate something with a lot of iron in it, well, that could only help, right?

Clint decided they were having pizza for lunch, which Bucky could have guessed would happen.

“This place does the best pizza on this side of Manhattan,” he said as they settled into a booth.

“You know this because you’re tried every single place that does pizza round here,” said Bucky.

“Pretty much,” agreed Clint. “Pizza is serious business, I wouldn’t make a claim like that if I didn’t have the evidence to back it up.”

Bucky glanced at the menu, then dropped it back on the table. “Okay, then I’m going to the bathroom, and you can order me whatever the best pizza they do is.”

Clint’s eyes lit up. “Oh man, you will not regret this.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure about that, but he’d taken the risk now.

When he got back from the bathroom, Clint had slumped sideways against the window and his eyes were shut.

Oh, hell no. Bucky thumped the table with his metal fist as he sat back down and Clint jolted awake. “I wasn’t asleep,” he said, immediately. “Just… resting my eyes.”

“Right,” said Bucky, skeptically.

“Doctor says I’m fine,” Clint reminded him.

Bucky snorted. “Right, because doctors never miss anything.”

Clint gave him a look and he held up his hands. “Okay, I’m shutting up. Just, if you’re still falling asleep all over the place tomorrow…”

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m trying very hard not to get irritated by all this mother-henning, but, seriously. I am an adult, and I can manage my own health, okay?”

“Fine,” said Bucky. “I’m backing off. I would dispute the adult thing, though. I’ve seen you when there’s a new batch of Avengers merchandise, remember? No one who spends that long playing with a plastic figure of himself counts as an adult.”

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have one yet,” said Clint, grinning at him. “Although, even when you do, it won’t have a tiny little bow like mine, which is why mine will always be the best.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve’s comes with a shield,” he pointed out.

“And?” said Clint. “C’mon, dude, _tiny little bow_.”

Bucky gave up, pushing back in his chair and spreading his legs out. “You really think they’ll do one for me?”

“Of course,” said Clint. “I mean, they’d better. I need one to go in my collection.”

Clint had figures of all the Avengers lined up on top of his TV. Bucky wasn’t sure he liked the idea of having a version of himself watching when he went over to play computer games or whatever, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to talk Clint out of it.

“What would mine even come with?” he asked. “Oh, wait, it would be a rifle, right?”

“If you wanted something else, you really should have got yourself a specialised weapon of some kind already,” said Clint. “Maybe a whip? I can see you rocking the Indiana Jones look.”

Indiana Jones. Bucky ran through his memory for that and drew a blank. “I don’t know that one,” he admitted, and Clint’s eyes lit up.

“Okay, well, that solves what we’re doing this afternoon then,” he said. “You’ll like it; he fights Nazis.”

“With a whip?” asked Bucky, doubtfully. “And they don’t just shoot him?”

Clint shrugged. “I mean, they try, but everyone knows that Nazis are terrible shots.” Bucky raised an eyebrow and Clint grinned at him. “At least, in movies. I’m guessing they were actually able to hit the broadside of a barn when they were taking over most of Europe.”

“Some of them could,” agreed Bucky. “They definitely weren’t likely to be threatened by a guy with a whip.”

“And a hat,” added Clint. “The hat is also important. And the stubble, the rugged look of manliness, the jawline...”

“Okay, so I’m getting you’ve got a bit of a crush,” said Bucky. He hesitated, then added, “Maybe I should be taking him as some kinda style icon.”

Clint grinned at him with the flirty spark in his eye that always made Bucky want to shift closer. He moved his foot over to press against Clint’s, and Clint’s grin widened.

“Okay, I’m getting that on record,” he said. “No takebacks, I’m gonna get you a whip tomorrow.”

“Kinky,” said Bucky.

The waitress cleared her throat pointedly and he straightened up fast as she set their food down in front of them. Clint cracked up, turning away towards the window in a failed effort to hide his laughter.

“The look on your _face_ ,” he choked out once she’d gone.

Bucky scowled at him. “You coulda told me she was there.”

Clint shook his head as he pulled his pizza towards himself. “Oh no, this was way better.”

“You won’t be laughing when we show up on TMZ as the BDSM Avengers,” muttered Bucky, starting on his own pizza.

“Are you kidding?” said Clint. “I’m gonna be wetting myself.” He kicked gently at Bucky’s leg. “C’mon, you gotta be seeing the funny side of this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but he wasn’t able to keep the smile trying to break free off his face, and he could tell Clint had spotted it.

****

Clint was pretty set on showing Bucky this movie, and dragged him back to his quarters when they got to the Tower.

“Am I allowed to put a bet on whether or not you fall asleep?” said Bucky as the opening started.

“While Indie is on screen? No fucking way,” said Clint, setting the remote down and settling back. He was sitting a lot closer to Bucky than was necessary, close enough that their legs were resting against each other.

“Right,” said Bucky, because if the guy could fall asleep on the kitchen table halfway through a cup of coffee, he could definitely fall asleep watching a movie he’d seen a hundred times before.

Clint did actually manage to stay awake, although he slumped down closer to Bucky as what had to be the worst archeologist Bucky had ever seen swashbuckled his way through the film. He did enjoy watching the Nazis get trounced though.

Clint’s head descended onto his shoulder at about the point that the female lead started expressing her disdain for Indiana in a way that meant they’d almost certainly end up fucking, and Bucky glanced down at him to see his eyelids fluttering.

“Thought you weren’t gonna fall asleep,” he said.

“I’m not,” mumbled Clint, blinking his eyes open wide as if he were fooling anyone.

Bucky knew he should be putting distance between them, but Clint was warm and heavy against him and he couldn’t remember the last time someone looked so relaxed and peaceful in his presence. Clint’s eyes fluttered shut again and Bucky put his fingers on his cheek, stroking up through his hair.

“Wake up,” he said, softly.

“Yeah, not exactly helping,” muttered Clint, opening his eyes again. He pulled himself up off Bucky’s shoulder with a groan, turning into his hand so that their faces were barely inches apart. “Hey,” he said, even softer than Bucky had spoken.

Dan was the last person Bucky kissed. If he kissed Clint right now, that wouldn’t be true any more.

Bucky jerked back, letting his hand drop as he turned back to the screen.

Clint sat back, frowning as he put distance between them. A few awkward minutes passed as Bucky tried to pull back from the wild moment where he’d almost kissed Clint, the awareness of just how close he’d come sending electricity fizzing through his limbs.

“Okay,” said Clint, as Indiana started a bar fight with some Nazis, “I kinda feel like we should actually talk about this. I mean, I’m not getting the wrong signals, right? There’s something here?”

Bucky made himself look over at him. He was looking at Bucky with a look of resolution, jaw set and his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“It’s not just, like, play-flirting, right?” he added, and there was a note of desperation in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat. “No,” he admitted.

Clint nodded, head jerking up and down a few times too many. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, that’s. That’s good. I just wanted to check. I get that you’re probably not ready for anything, and I can wait, I will wait, just. I didn’t want to be the idiot waiting over mixed signals.”

“You’re not,” said Bucky. His mouth had gone dry with the tension running through him, but he couldn’t let Clint think that he didn’t feel anything. “There’s something here. I just…”

Clint interrupted as he struggled to find words. “No, no, it’s cool, seriously, I get it. You’ve been through so much, and you’re doing so well coping with it, but I know it’s not easy. This kinda thing just complicates everything, right?”

“Right,” said Bucky, then hesitated. Should he just let Clint think that it was all the Hydra crap holding him back? No, fuck it. If they were going to actually talk about this rather than flirt around the edges of it, he should be honest. “There was a guy,” he admitted, fixing his eyes on the movie but barely seeing it. Indiana seemed to have moved on to trashing a street market. “Back before I joined up. We were together a couple of years.” He hesitated, then added, “I’da married him if I’d been able to.”

He had to stop there and take a deep breath. Getting his memories of Dan back once he’d started to shake off what Hydra had done to him had been maybe the most painful part of his recovery. The horrible feeling of having lost a whole future with him, of having left him to grow old and die alone, had felt like losing his arm all over again. Hydra had taken a lifetime of loving Dan from him. Fuck, it had been _worse_ than losing his arm.

And then, once he’d started looking around at the modern world and actually paying attention to the kind of stuff that had changed, and he’d realised that if Dan were still around he’d have been able to marry him, it had felt like losing him all over again. He’d hated all the sneaking around and half-truths they’d been forced into, but as long as there was nothing to compare it with, he’d just been grateful they had as much as they did. A place to go dancing together, a friend who understood, enough independence for Bucky to spend the night in Dan’s room without anyone commenting on it; it had felt like riches compared to how things might have been, right up until he saw the first photos of men getting married, sharing kisses on the steps of the town hall with their family and friends cheering behind them.

He’d found it far too easy to picture him and Dan in their places, but it was all decades too late.

“Oh man,” said Clint, putting a comforting hand on Bucky’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head. “I only remembered him a year ago,” he said. “Seventy years since I last saw him, but I’ve only been grieving for him a year.” He pushed all the emotion rising up in his chest down, flicking his hair back to glance at Clint. “I just need a bit more time.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I totally get it.” He moved his hand off Bucky’s leg, shifting away so that he was leaning against the opposite arm of the sofa and there was a gap between them. Bucky’s side felt very cold without Clint leaning on him, but he appreciated the gesture.

He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the film. “These Nazis better get their comeuppance,” he said.

“Oh, they really do,” said Clint, with a grin.

****

It felt like everyone wanted to see Bucky before he shipped out, but there was only one person he was interested in spending his last evening with.

“Oh, wow, there’s a sexy soldier boy,” said Dan, giving Bucky a very appreciative look that made him feel better about how weird the uniform felt. “So neat and orderly… makes me want to mess you up.”

“There will be no messing up of the uniform,” said Bucky. “I can’t turn up tomorrow with it all covered in, you know. Whatever.” They were in Daphne’s, which was the safest place Bucky knew to be with Dan, but it was still a public place. He wasn’t going to talk openly about Dan coming all over him, not even if everyone here already knew what he meant.

Dan smirked at him. “Whatever,” he repeated. “Fine, okay, guess we’ll have to take care that the _whatever_ goes somewhere else. In fact, I’ve got a couple of suggestions…”

“Later,” said Bucky, draining the last of his drink. “C’mon, I want to dance with my best guy.”

Dan stood up and held out a hand to Bucky. “Definitely,” he said. “First vertically, then horizontally, right?”

Bucky took his hand, shaking his head as they headed for the dance floor. “How the hell did you manage to chat me up with terrible lines like that?”

“I don’t know, I guess you’re just easy,” said Dan, taking Bucky in his arms. “Lucky for me, huh?”

Bucky smiled up at him, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips. “Lucky for me,” he said, and meant it with every part of him. “Meeting you was pretty much the best thing that’s happened to me.”

Dan grinned up at him, but there was a shadow to it. “Yeah, me too,” he said. He hesitated for a beat as they moved together to the music, then added, “That’s why you’ve gotta make sure you come back home to me, Jamie, safe and sound. It’s kinda important to me.”

“Yeah, it’s important to me too,” said Bucky. Dan’s smile wavered and for a moment Bucky saw just how worried he was. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning into him. “I’m gonna be fine. No way I’m going to let anything stop me coming home to you, okay?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Dan, covering over his worry again. Bucky didn’t believe it for a second, but then, he also knew that he wasn’t going to have a whole hell of a lot of control over whether or not he came home or not. All he could do was hope like hell, and maybe even throw out a couple of prayers, in the hopes that would tip the balance in his favour. 

He sent up more than a few prayers when he was captured by Hydra and shoved in a cage. The idea of never making it home felt all too real as he watched other guys getting taken off for some kind of mysterious experiments and never coming back.

When his turn came to be dragged off and strapped down to a metal table, he gave up on prayers. He just gritted his teeth, fixed the memory of Dan’s laugh in his mind, and endured.

****

The Nazis were immolated in a satisfyingly nasty fashion, Indie ended up with the girl despite having been an asshole to her for most of the movie, and the credits rolled.

“Do you see my point?” asked Clint. He was curled up against the edge of the couch but had managed to stay awake for the end of the film.

Bucky considered the matter. “Okay, he’s good-looking, I’ll allow that, but I’m still not sold on the idea of fighting Nazis with a whip.”

“It doesn’t seem any more ridiculous than fighting them with a shield,” said Clint. “I mean, come on. At least a whip is an offensive weapon, not a defensive one.”

Bucky snorted. “I’m not the guy who thought that was a good idea,” he said. “I used a gun, like a normal fella.”

“Don’t lie, nothing normal about you,” said Clint. “You used every weapon you could get your hands on. I’ve seen how you hoard that shit.”

Bucky didn’t bother denying it. “No point in running the risk of getting caught short.”

Clint reached for the remote, straining to get it without having to lift his head up. “There’s a sequel. Well, there’s two sequels that we admit to existing, and a fourth that I’ll have to be drunk before I watch.”

“Another time,” said Bucky, stretching. “I’m gonna hit the gym, I think.” He stood up and looked down at Clint. “You coming?”

Clint shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna–”

“Nap?” asked Bucky, raising an eyebrow.

Clint shrugged a shoulder. “Probably,” he said. “Take it easy rather than try and keep up with the super-soldier, like the doctor said.” He flicked the TV off, then pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa down over himself. “Nothing at all to do with how vivid my dreams have been lately, and how much I’d enjoy having one about Indie.”

“Right, of course not,” said Bucky. “Want me to come wake you up for dinner?”

Clint nodded, settling further into the sofa and yawning. “Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he muttered tiredly.

Bucky’s fingers itched to ruffle his hair, but he made himself step away instead. “See you then,” he said, and left. Either he was ready to start something with Clint, or he wasn’t. All this flirting and crossing of boundaries was only going to confuse the issue. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

****

Clint had barely moved when Bucky came back, except to shut his eyes.

Bucky had spent more than enough time watching Clint sleep over the last few days, but somehow the sight was still enough to make him pause. There was something about the relaxed look on his face that made Bucky want to reach out for him and wrap him in his arms so that he could have a piece of his contentment.

"Clint, dinner time," he said. There was no movement from Clint, so he allowed himself to touch Clint's shoulder as he repeated himself. "Clint!"

Clint's face didn't move.

"C'mon, Clint. Wake up already." He shook his shoulder harder and was finally rewarded with a peeved frown and an incoherent mumble.

"That's it, open your eyes," said Bucky encouragingly, crouching down so that his face was at the same height as Clint's. "I swear, real life isn't that shitty compared to whatever you're dreaming this time."

Clint's eyes fluttered open and fixed on Bucky. A slow, lazy smile came over his face.

"Jamie," he said with a sleep-slurred voice. "Thought we were meeting at Daphne's."

Bucky jolted backwards, his heart clenching hard. "What?" he asked, shock making his voice faint.

Awareness was flooding back into Clint's eyes. "Sorry, sorry," he said. "I was still dreaming."

"No," said Bucky, because that hadn't been a dream. Or, at least, it hadn't been seventy years ago when he'd last heard those words, that voice. Grief rose up in his throat. "You asshole," he said, standing up so he could put distance between himself and Clint. "Why the fuck did you think that would be funny?!” He sank his hands into his hair, resisting the urge to tear it out. “How the fuck did you even know about that?"

He couldn't be here. He turned and strode out of the room, ignoring Clint's voice calling his name behind him. He made it into the elevator and jabbed the button until the doors shut before crumbling.

Shit. Dan. How the hell had Clint managed to sound just like him? Not just the Brooklyn accent, but the rhythm and pitch of his voice.

Bucky missed him so much. He swallowed back the hard lump in his throat, tears threatening to flood his eyes.

"Agent Barton wants me to pass on a message," said FRIDAY. 

"I don't want to hear it," said Bucky. "Take me to the roof."

The elevator rose up to the top of the Tower and the doors opened. Bucky stumbled out.

"Don't let anyone else up here," he said.

"Understood," said FRIDAY.

Bucky headed right to the edge of the roof before he collapsed. He stared out to the distant lights of Brooklyn and stopped fighting the flood of tears.

****

"I can't stay," said Bucky, softly.

Dan let out a sigh and turned over in his arms. His hair was a mess, lying tussled on the pillow, and he had a dark mark on his shoulder where Bucky had sucked and licked and bitten until there was a record that he'd been there. He was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen.

"I know," he said, hand sliding over Buck's skin to the small of his back. "Just a bit longer? Who knows when we'll see each other again. Or even if it'll be like this when we do. You might find a handsome soldier boy of your own."

"Never," said Bucky, taking hold of Dan's face to emphasise his point. "There's never gonna be anyone else. You're it for me."

Dan kissed him, then pressed his face into Bucky's shoulder. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you so much." There was a shaky note in his voice and Bucky could feel his shoulder getting damp. "Shit, I wasn't gonna do this," muttered Dan in a thick voice.

"Hey, no," said Bucky, cupping his hand around the back of Dan's neck. "I get it. I do. I'm gonna miss you too, but just think about after the war, yeah? I'll come home, we'll get a place together – tell everyone it's to save money – and then we'll never need to miss each other again."

Dan took a deep, fortifying breath and lifted his head. "Yeah, okay. You can do the cooking, because I'm shit."

"Yeah," agreed Bucky. "Was already planning on it."

He kissed Dan, wishing there was some way he could skip ahead to that moment. How long was it going to be before they got that future? It could easily be years.

"I really have to go," he said.

Dan nodded. "I know." He pulled away from Bucky, sitting up and giving him a sad smile. "I'll be here when you get back."

****

 

Bucky hadn't properly cried for Dan before, so it probably made sense that the strength of the emotional storm took him by surprise. By the time it had abated, leaving him wrung out and aching, the stars had come out. He stared up at them and wished that he'd managed to hold on to enough faith to believe in some kind of afterlife where he’d get to see Dan again.

He contemplated just staying out here all night, but he’d never been the type to hide from his problems.

“FRIDAY, where’s Clint?”

“Agent Barton is currently outside the roof access door,” she said.

Right, of course he was. Camping out until Bucky went back in and he could ambush him.

“Despite his best efforts to stay awake, he’s been asleep for the last twenty minutes,” she added. “He has left a message for you on my servers.”

Bucky frowned. If the doctor had been right and there was nothing wrong with Clint, why the hell would he have fallen asleep on a landing when he'd already spent the last couple of hours asleep?

“Play the message,” he said, standing up and stretching out his limbs.

Clint's voice was breathless with urgency. “Shit, Bucky, I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening, none of this makes any sense. I told you about the dreams I’ve been having, right? I don't think they're just dreams. Or, at least… Look. Just now, I was dreaming about being a mechanic in Brooklyn in the forties, about going to this underground bar and meeting you and falling in love and, just, all this stuff. Years of it, of loving you. And if it was really just a dream then this is kinda embarrassing, but I’m guessing that your reaction means it's not. Which means you were right and there is something wrong with me, because all my dreams have been like that. Just, I don't think it's a doctor I need. Shit, Bucky, please let me out there, we need to talk about this.”

What the hell?

How the hell could Clint have dreamt about being Dan?

For a moment, Bucky considered the idea that this was some kinda joke, but there was no way Clint was cruel enough for that. Shit, it was going to turn out to be some kind of magic. Bucky hated magic. 

He took one last look at the view before going over to the access door and pulling it open. Clint was curled up against the wall, deeply asleep with his arms locked around his chest. Bucky crouched down and shook him, maybe more roughly than he needed to.

“Wake up, idiot. What kind of a spy falls asleep while stalking someone?”

Clint didn't move. Bucky shook him again.

“Clint! Clint, wake the fuck up already. Clint!”

Nothing. Bucky began to panic. Clint had been hard to wake up recently, but nothing like this.

“FRIDAY, can you play some kinda loud alarm?”

“Of course,” she said, and a moment later an ear-splitting siren rang out.

Clint's eyelids didn't even flicker.

“Fuck,” said Bucky. “Did anything happen to him?”

“No,” said FRIDAY. “He just sat down and went to sleep. Do you want me to call for medical assistance?”

They’d already tried medicine. “No,” said Bucky. “Tell the others there's a problem. I'll meet them in the lounge.”

He carefully scooped Clint up in his arms, holding him close to his chest as he stood up. Clint's head flopped onto his shoulder and he made a contented murmuring noise, but there was no sign of him waking up.

Bucky carried him into the elevator, keeping him close as it descended to the lounge.

Vision, Sam and Steve were already there.

“What happened?” asked Steve, striding over.

Bucky headed straight for the sofa and set Clint down. “I can't wake him up,” he said. “This sleeping thing, I think it's some kinda magic.” Clint relaxed into the sofa cushions, letting out a couple of gentle snores as he settled.

Natasha came in, took one look at the scene and hurried over to Clint’s side, dropping to her knees by him and putting a hand to his forehead. “Clint! Hawkeye!”

“I tried all that,” said Bucky. “FRIDAY tried a siren. Nothing.” He glanced over at Steve. “Stevie, he dreamt about Dan.”

“Dan?” repeated Steve. “How would he have known about him?”

“You didn’t tell him?” asked Bucky.

Steve shook his head. “No, I didn’t think it was my place.”

Then there was no way for Clint to have known everything he’d said in the message. Bucky grimaced. “It’s definitely magic, then.”

“Aw, man, I hate magic,” said Tony, coming out of the elevator.

“Don’t we all?” asked Sam. “Except, of course, the one Avenger who isn’t here right now.”

“Can we call Wanda and get her back?” asked Steve. “Or, FRIDAY, is Doctor Strange available?”

“This started after the thing with his apprentice,” said Bucky. “That was when Clint started being sleepy all the time.” And when he’d started talking about his dreams. If the one about Dan had been true, had the others? How the hell did that even work?

“Doctor Strange is on his way,” said FRIDAY, just as a portal opened and Strange stepped through.

Tony scowled at him. “I hate it when you do that. There is a door, you know.”

“My apologies, I assumed you’d want me here as quickly as possible if there’s something wrong with one of your team members,” said Strange. “I’ll go down to the lobby and spend ten minutes in a lift, shall I?”

“He won’t wake up,” said Bucky, cutting through all the posturing before it got out of hand. “He’s been sleeping loads since Dallas, and having weird dreams. One of them was about a guy I knew in the forties, and he knew stuff I’d never told him about.”

Natasha moved out of the way so that Strange could crouch by Clint’s side. He put a hand over his forehead, and a glow engulfed Clint’s head.

Everyone was silent as Strange shut his eyes, frowning with concentration. Bucky clenched his hands into fists, trying to stop himself from vibrating with all the emotions rushing through him. What the hell was he going to do if there was something seriously wrong with Clint? What if Bucky yelling at him was the last time they spoke?

“His mind has been unmoored,” said Strange in a distant voice.

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Bucky.

Strange ignored him. “His mind has been tampered with before,” he said, then opened his eyes and looked at Vision. “I can feel the residual effects of your stone’s power.”

Vision shifted uncomfortably. “That was before I came into possession of it,” he said. “Before my genesis, even.”

“Loki used it to take over Clint’s mind,” said Natasha. “That was years ago, though.”

Strange shook his head. “The effects of such things linger. The amulet that my apprentice had stolen must have interacted with those effects to cause this. Its power also comes from a stone, and I have long suspected they might be related. Their powers feel similar.” He looked at Bucky. “You mentioned dreams.”

Bucky stared down at Clint’s face. “He said it was like he was getting the History Channel beamed into his head. He dreamt about being a Mongolian warrior, about fighting the British Empire in India, something about a stable in Königsberg…” He cleared his throat. “And a mechanic in Brooklyn in the forties.”

“I see,” said Strange. “Interesting.”

“It hasn’t been Königsberg for decades,” said Natasha. “It’s been Kaliningrad since the end of the war.”

Bucky just shrugged, because what the hell did that matter? “I didn’t know that.”

She made a thoughtful noise and looked back at Clint. “History isn’t Clint’s strong suit.”

“So he shouldn’t have known that either,” said Strange. “Very interesting.”

Bucky didn’t give a shit if it was interesting or not, he just wanted Clint to wake the fuck up.

“But you can sort it out, right?” asked Steve. “We have both the stone and your amulet, surely we can undo whatever they’ve done?”

Strange made a face that Bucky really, really didn’t want to see. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Make it that simple,” Bucky growled, stepping closer to Strange. “Just fix him.”

“Bucky,” said Steve quietly, putting his hand on Bucky’s arm.

Bucky turned on him, impotent rage burning through him. “Don’t _Bucky_ me, Steve. His magic fucked Clint up, his magic can damn well fix him.”

“And it will,” said Strange. “I just need some time to look into the matter. Interactions between two forces like these are tricky things, and can have strange side effects. I need to make sure I won’t be making it worse before I try anything.” He stepped back, circling his hand and creating another portal. “Keep him comfortable until I return.” He stepped through the portal and disappeared.

Bucky let out a very long breath, but it did nothing to calm him down. “Fuck this,” he announced to the room in general, and strode out.

He went down to the gym and hit the punching bag until it flew off the chain, hit the back wall and exploded. 

It seemed like every time he had a chance at something good, it got pulled away from him. He’d wonder just what he’d done in a past life to deserve this, but he had a feeling he knew, and it hadn’t been in a past life. There was a lot of blood on his hands, after all.

“We’ll get him back,” said Steve’s voice, and Bucky turned to see him standing in the doorway.

He scowled at him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. There are way too many things that can go wrong with magic.”

“And there’s a lot of people on this team who won’t let that stop them from getting him back,” said Steve. “If Strange can’t do anything, we can still ask Wanda to try, or get hold of Thor and see if anyone on his world can help. Don’t go losing hope so quickly, Bucky.”

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to shake out some of the rage. Steve didn’t deserve to have that aimed at him. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “We got a plan?”

Steve shrugged. “We’ve moving Clint to the sick bay here and SHIELD are sending over a nurse to monitor his vitals.”

So they were just going to be waiting. Great.

“Let me know if anything changes,” said Bucky, going to the closet where they kept replacement punching bags. There was still a lot of frustration for him to work out.

****

Clint didn’t wake up.

Bucky destroyed another couple of bags, then gave in and went up to the sickbay. Clint was hooked up to monitors and tubes, the rhythm of his heart beeping on a screen next to the bed. Bucky collapsed into the chair next to the one Natasha was already curled up in and settled in to wait.

Time passed very slowly. Doctor Strange came back with an armful of books and did another few magical tests, then disappeared again with a frown, which didn’t seem like a good sign. Natasha left after a while, but was replaced by a stream of other Avengers, wandering in for anything from a few minutes to an hour. Nobody had much to say, but Bucky made sure to glare at anyone who seemed like they might be about to open their mouth. He wasn’t in the mood for useless platitudes.

When he eventually found himself alone with Clint, he reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You gotta wake up,” he said. “I need to apologise to you.”

He should have known that there was no way that Clint would pretend to be Dan as a joke or whatever. Even if he had known enough about Dan to do that, he wasn’t that kind of an asshole.

He thought about the smile Clint gave him whenever Bucky handed him a cup of coffee, and the way his laughter rang out when they were messing around at the range, and clutched harder at Clint’s hand. He couldn’t stand the idea that he might be about to lose those things.

And not just those things, but all the things he’d never had. Why the hell hadn’t he ever kissed Clint? He’d had so many chances, and now he might never have another one.

Strange swept back into the room, followed by Steve and Natasha. Bucky dropped Clint’s hand, standing up and turning to glare at him. “You better know how to fix this.”

Strange stood over Clint, frowning down at him. “I am starting to have an idea,” he said. “I think I know precisely what has happened to him now.”

He held his hands over Clint’s chest and golden light poured out from them. Bucky glanced over at Steve, who just shrugged at him. Great, helpful.

“Yes,” said Strange. He raised one hand to aim at the wall, projecting a mess of coloured lights, like a tangled ball of wool. “These are the different magic energies. The residue from Vision’s stone left his brain vulnerable to being shunted out of his body again, and the influence from the stone in the Eye has done just that. Over the last few days, his mind has been catapulted back through time whenever he has gone to sleep, and now it has gone so far back that he can’t hear us calling him home.”

“Through time?” said Natasha. “So, when he was talking about dreaming about the past, he was, what? Actually watching history?”

Strange nodded. “He has been revisiting his past lives,” he said.

Bucky flinched. “Past lives?” he repeated with a dry mouth. “Like, reincarnation? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t kid,” said Strange. “Let me show you.” He frowned with concentration, shutting his eyes. The tangled lights disappeared from the wall and the glow surrounding Clint turned a deep shade of orange. A moment later, light flickered against the wall like an old-fashioned film projector, and an image formed.

Two men were crouched by a fire outside a cave. They were dressed in furs and had long, tangled hair and beards. One of them was fiddling with a spear, looking as if he were fixing it, while the other poked at the fire, building it higher.

There was no sound, but Bucky could see they were talking, glancing at each other and occasionally gesturing with short, clipped movements.

“This is one of Clint’s past lives?” asked Natasha, moving closer to the wall.

Strange nodded with a strained face. “It’s a very long time ago.”

“Which one is he?” asked Bucky, just as the man who had been tending the fire picked up something small and flicked it at the other, catching him right on the nose. It was exactly the same motion Clint had used to send a kernel of popcorn at Bucky last week. “Wait, I think I can guess.”

The other guy dropped the spear he was working on and threw himself at the guy who would one day be Clint, wrestling him to go the ground. For a moment it looked as if they were about to roll into the fire, then Clint tipped them back the other way, turning them so that he was braced above the other guy. He grinned down at him, then dropped to press a kiss to his lips.

“I guess some things don’t ever change then,” said Natasha.

The other guy pulled Clint down against him and the kissing became more heated. Strange dropped his hand, making the image disappear. He had sweat beaded on his forehead and his lungs were working as if he’d run a race.

“That was where Clint is?” asked Steve.

“That was _when_ he is,” corrected Strange. “I can show it to you easily enough, following the thread back from his mind, but I can’t pull him back. Not without more power.”

Bucky stared back at the wall, trying to get his head around this. “So, every dream he’s had was a past life?” he asked.

“Precisely,” said Strange.

Which meant that Clint had been Dan. Or Dan was now Clint. Bucky squeezed his hands into fists. Christ, no wonder Clint kept reminding him of Dan.

He shook his head, stepping back from the bed. This was ridiculous, there was no way his lover from forty years ago had been reincarnated as the guy lying in the bed in front of him, that kinda thing was bullshit.

The same kind of bullshit as Norse gods and giant green rage monsters. Shit.

“You okay, Bucky?” asked Steve.

Bucky shook his head. “He ain’t Dan,” he said. “No way. I don’t– He musta just been dreaming about it. I don’t believe this shit.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe or not,” said Strange. “It’s true.”

Bucky couldn’t cope with this. He shook his head, took one last look at Clint’s sleeping face, and took off out of the room.

****

Steve came to find him on the roof about an hour later. Bucky had spent most of the hour going over all the reasons that this was bullshit, and trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that thought it actually made a lot of sense.

Steve settled down on the edge of the roof next to him. “Strange has an idea of how to get Clint back,” he said. “He’s gone home to check it out in his library.”

“He’s wrong about Clint’s dreams,” said Bucky, stubbornly. “He said I was in quite a few of them, what the hell would I be doing in his past lives?”

Steve shrugged. “The same thing you were doing in Dan’s life? And that you want to be doing in Clint’s life?”

Bucky scowled at him. “Don’t make me push you off this roof.”

“Yeah, I’m not worried,” said Steve. “Look, I know this is messing with you, but don’t you think it’s a good thing? The guy you thought you’d lost is still around, even if he’s not exactly the same.” He glanced at Bucky meaningfully. “In my opinion, that’s a pretty great thing.”

“Yeah, it’s not the same thing,” said Bucky. “Reincarnation is a bit different to a few decades of being brainwashed. I mean, come on, Steve, you’re seriously saying that you think me and Clint have had multiple past lives where we know each other?”

Steve shrugged. “The other caveman in that vision Strange showed us had your scowl.”

Bucky had absolutely no idea what to do with that. “This is bullshit,” he muttered, because at least that felt true.

“Doctor Strange has returned,” announced FRIDAY.

“Thanks,” said Steve, and climbed to his feet. “Are you coming?” he asked Bucky.

Bucky thought about just staying here and glaring at the horizon, then stood up as well. “We’re not talking about this with anyone else. Especially not Clint.”

“Sure,” said Steve, far too easily.

****

Strange was standing over Clint’s bed when Steve and Bucky got down there. He was wearing the amulet that he’d taken back from his ex-apprentice and for a moment Bucky had to struggle with the urge to just grab it and throw it out the window before it could do anything else to Clint. Instead, he slumped back against the wall and crossed his arms, leaving Steve to deal with this whole thing.

“Have you worked out how to reverse whatever it did?” asked Steve.

“‘Reverse’ is the wrong term,” said Strange. “What’s done is done, when it comes to magic. What I can do is use the power of this stone to accelerate Clint’s mind back through the timeline until he returns to us here.”

Natasha had slipped in through the door while he was talking. “And that won’t harm his mind?”

Strange hesitated and Bucky took a stride forward. “We ain’t doing it if it’s gonna hurt him.”

“It’s the only option,” said Strange. “And it won’t harm him permanently, it’s merely that moving through time at a rapid rate will be painful for him.”

Bucky hated the idea of Clint being in pain but it seemed like that was usually the only way to fix these things. “And that’s it?” he asked.

“It should be,” said Strange. “Magic is tricky, you can’t always predict it, but I can’t see that there will be anything else.” The amulet was beginning to glow against his chest and he reached out to lay a hand on Clint’s forehead. “Don’t touch him while I do this.”

Bucky wasn’t feeling very reassured, but Steve gave him a nod, so he forced himself to step back against the wall again. Natasha moved from the doorway to the foot of the bed, looking down at Clint with a frown as the glow from Strange’s amulet engulfed him.

“What will he remember?” she asked.

“Everything,” said Strange, in a voice that echoed as if they were in a vast empty space, and his eyes lit up from within.

Clint’s body thrashed on the bed, every limb going stiff and tense and his back arching. His eyes screwed shut as his mouth dropped open, but he didn’t make a sound. He just twisted, panting out fast breaths as Strange pressed harder against his forehead.

Bucky crossed his arms tighter, pressing them into his chest to stop himself from leaping forward to knock Strange away from Clint. The glow around Clint grew brighter and brighter, until it hurt to look at him, and Strange’s robes billowed as if caught in a gale, although Bucky couldn’t feel the air moving.

Clint started making a high-pitched whining noise in the back of his throat and his eyes flew open. His pupils were pinpricks, focussing on something Bucky couldn’t see.

Bucky started forward, reaching for him, but halted his motion even before Strange sent him a warning glare. Magic was tricky; interfering now was only likely to make things worse for Clint.

The noise Clint was making grew louder and louder until he was screaming. Strange raised the hand that wasn’t pressed to Clint’s forehead and barked out a word, then the glow engulfing Clint exploded outwards and there was a crack as the lights blew.

For a moment, there was complete silence in the dark, then the emergency lighting flickered and came on. Clint was collapsed on the bed, gasping for air, but he was awake and present. Bucky moved forward and his eyes darted to him.

“Jamie,” he said, then frowned. “No, sorry. Bucky. That’s not–” He pressed a hand to his head. “Aw, that’s a mess,” he muttered. “Memories everywhere.”

“They will sort themselves out,” said Strange. “The old ones will fade.”

“Right,” said Clint, wincing. “Looking forward to it.” 

Natasha moved next to the bed and put a hand on Clint’s arm. “Don’t do that again, Идиотский ребенок.”

“Кого вы называете ребенком?” said Clint, and then blinked. “Oh, huh. I know Russian now. And a whole lot of other languages. Wer ist jetzt der dumme Avenger?”

“Still you,” said Natasha. She looked at Strange. “Is he fixed now? No more falling asleep at all hours?”

Strange nodded. “I have resecured his mind so that it will not be as easily detached in future.”

Clint made a face. “Ugh, that sounds awful.”

“And the only side effect is that he now remembers all his past lives,” pressed Natasha. “No unexpected magic surprises?”

“There shouldn’t be,” said Strange. He cast his eye over Clint with an analysing look. “There’s no sign of any further magical energy.”

She nodded, then looked back at Clint. “I will bring you coffee,” she said, and swept out.

“Jesus, she musta been worried,” said Clint as he sat up, rubbing at his forehead and still frowning. “I can’t remember the last time she made me coffee.” He glanced at Bucky. “Are you still pissed at me?”

That felt like a lifetime ago now. “No, I reckon I’ll give you a pass on this one.”

“Awesome. I’ve always hated when you’re pissed at me,” said Clint, then winced. “Aw man,” he muttered. “Too many examples of that, all at once.”

“You will gain control,” said Strange.

“Wait,” said Steve. “So, you _are_ remembering Bucky from other lives?” There was a shit-eatingly amused tone to his voice that made Bucky glare at him. Steve just grinned back.

“Oh yeah,” said Clint. “He’s in most of them. Or, no, there’s guys in most of them that for some reason my brain is recognising as Bucky, even though they all look different and have different lives. Well, except for the last one, that was definitely him.” He looked at Bucky. “Jamie,” he said, softly.

Bucky froze up, and his brain filled with static. Was he really meant to be able to deal with the idea that Clint was the reincarnation of the guy he’d loved in the forties?

Clint blinked, then glanced over at Steve. “And you, I remember you,” he said. “Man, you were so tiny then. You don’t really get that just from pictures.”

Steve looked uncomfortable, and Bucky shot him a look of _serves you right_. “Was I in any other lives?” Steve asked Clint. “I musta been bigger in my other lives, right?”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t remember anyone that was you. Bucky was the only one I recognise.”

“Only certain souls with strong links between them reincarnate together,” said Strange.

“Strong links,” repeated Steve and, yep, he was grinning at Bucky again.

Bucky couldn’t cope with this right now, not with Steve and Strange looking at him, and Clint carefully _not_ looking at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“If you’re all better, I’m gonna go get on with something more useful,” he said, and escaped.

****

He went back up to the roof, because it was an excellent place for brooding. All he could think about when he was up there was how much Dan had liked going up to the roof of Bucky’s apartment block and dangling their legs over the edge while they shared a beer.

How the hell hadn’t he noticed that he was falling in love with the same guy for the second time?

Or, hell, the hundredth time, since apparently this life was only the latest time he’d managed to fall in love with Clint. He really couldn’t get his head around that though, not when being with Clint just felt easy and comfortable, and not like some kinda world-ending, Romeo and Juliet-style epic romance.

“Agent Barton is asking if you want coffee,” said FRIDAY, after Bucky had spent about twenty minutes staring at the sky and wondering if he was ever going to get some kind of control over the mess of emotions swirling around his chest. “He’s offering to bring some up.”

Bucky tipped his head back to look at the stars. It was probably past time for him to stop hiding up here and pretending he could get his emotions all settled down into a shape that made sense. “Tell him what I could really do with is a beer.”

There was a pause. “He will bring some up for both of you.”

Excellent. Bucky just had to work out what he should be saying to the guy when he did.

Clint brought a whole six pack up, which Bucky approved of. He pulled out two bottles while Clint settled himself down beside him, opened them with his metal hand and passed one to Clint once he was settled.

“Beer was a great idea,” said Clint, taking a swig. “I mean, coffee is great, but sometimes you just need beer, right?”

“Right,” agreed Bucky. “Sometimes something stronger.”

Clint held his bottle out for Bucky to clink in acknowledgement of that.

“So,” said Clint, after Bucky had taken a sip or two and his tension had started to unwind, “on a scale of one to ten, just how much are you freaking out?”

Bucky snorted. “About an eleven,” he said. “You?”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a two? Not nearly as much as I would have thought.” He took a thoughtful sip of beer. “Having all these memories has made two things very clear to me, and one of them is that, whatever else is going on, I’m always going to love you. It’s kinda reassuring to have that kind of certainty.”

Bucky had no idea what to do with that. He took a long slug of beer, then set the empty bottle aside and grabbed another one. “What’s the other thing?” he asked as he opened it.

Clint gave him an amused look that meant his deflection had been noted, but he let Bucky get away with it. “Just how shit most of history was to live through. Seriously, we think things are pretty crappy now, but that’s nothing on all the warfare and hunger and disease that most people lived through.”

“You don’t have to tell me, pal,” said Bucky. “I grew up during the Depression, remember?”

“At least you had proper plumbing,” said Clint. “I am never taking the sewer system for granted again. Jesus Christ, cities used to fucking stink.”

“Guess modern living has its perks,” said Bucky.

“Yep,” agreed Clint. He finished his own beer and turned to grab another one.

Despite the tension hanging in the air between them, it felt like any other evening they’d sat up here and had a drink. Bucky took a deep breath, and made himself compare it to the times he’d done the same with Dan. That had felt the same as well.

Fuck, maybe he was making this more difficult than it should be. “Okay, so, you bought me a drink,” he said, raising his bottle, “you’re wowing me with your wit and intelligence, or attempting to, at any rate. What next?”

Clint blinked, then a smile spread over his face as he placed the words. “Guess I’ll have to take you dancing,” he said. “Tomorrow night work for you?”

“Sure,” said Bucky. “Kinda leaves us with the rest of tonight to fill, though. Any ideas?”

“Hundreds,” said Clint, then leaned in, telegraphing the motion as if Bucky had any intention of avoiding it, and kissed him, softly and carefully. When he pulled back, he was smiling with a glint in his eye that was entirely too familiar.

“How the hell didn’t I realise you were Dan before?” asked Bucky. “You’ve got the same smile.”

Clint shrugged. “Guess it’s not something people really look for when they meet someone, them being the reincarnation of their ex.”

Bucky shook his head, because he might not have known that, but he had known how he felt about Clint. 

“I was wasting time,” he said.

“No,” said Clint, “that’s not true. C’mon, Bucky. You didn’t know, neither of us knew, it made total sense not to start something new while you were still dealing with losing someone like that.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t lost him,” said Bucky, then grimaced, because that didn’t feel fair to Dan, somehow. Even if Clint had his soul, or whatever it was that got reincarnated, he wasn’t the same person as Dan. They’d lived very different lives, after all. How much did that shape a person? Bucky couldn’t imagine Dan becoming an Avenger, even if he’d had the skills for it. He hadn’t signed up to the Army when Bucky had because he’d had a stable job as a mechanic and that had been more important to him than leaping headfirst into danger.

He shook his head. “Fuck, this is too much to get my head around,” he muttered. “I did lose him. You’re not him.”

“No,” agreed Clint. “Just, I know an awful lot about what it was like to be him, and we have enough in common for me to want nothing more than to take you out dancing because, Bucky, seriously, I loved dancing with you so much.” He shook his head and corrected himself. “ _He_ loved that.”

Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. This conversation was making him want to go and hide somewhere but he had a feeling that if he stayed, he’d probably get to kiss Clint again/ That was enough to make him stay where he was. “And the others?” he asked. “The stable guy and the cave man and the Mongolian?”

Clint shrugged. “Most of them loved dancing with their versions of you as well,” he said. “Actually, they all pretty much loved doing just about anything with him.” 

It turned out that Bucky had just about got to the point where he could cope with Clint and Dan being the same person, but he wasn’t quite there yet for the idea of them both reincarnating together through the centuries. It felt like a lot pressure, somehow.

Fuck it. Bucky had had enough deep thinking for one evening. Time to shelve thought in favour of action, which he was much better at anyway. 

He drained his beer and kissed Clint again, putting a lot more passion into it, letting all the pent-up emotions of the last year channel through it. Clint shifted closer as their lips moved together, opening his mouth to Bucky’s tongue and letting him take everything that he wanted from him. Bucky wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close, turning awkwardly on the roof edge to get closer to him.

“I’ve decided I’m not wasting time any more,” he said, when he pulled back. “Want to head to my room?”

“Definitely,” said Clint, pressing another kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Oh man, _lube_. Another point in favour of modern living.”

Bucky couldn’t hold in a laugh, because he could remember the revelation that had been masturbating for the first time with modern lube and knew exactly what Clint meant.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling away from Clint long enough to stand up and then hauling him up after him. “Let’s go take advantage of the era we’re living in.”

****

The next morning when he made coffee for them both, he took two mugs and the pot back into his bedroom, where Clint was sprawled out across his bed, naked and relaxed. As he set the mugs down, Clint’s eyes flickered open and he flopped over onto his back so that he could smile up at Bucky.

“Coffee,” he said, in a contented mumble.

“That’s right,” said Bucky. “You gonna sit up for it?”

It took Clint two goes to pull himself up against the pillows. He took the mug out of Bucky’s hand and curled his hands around it, bending over to breath in the vapour. “Best,” he said.

Bucky laughed as he sat down next to him with his own coffee. “How the hell did you cope in the lives you lived when there wasn’t coffee?”

Clint shrugged. “Had you, didn’t I?” There was a moment, then he blinked as if just realising what he’d said. He gave Bucky a sideways look that Bucky raised an eyebrow at.

“I think I kinda like you half asleep,” he said. “Not that I’m not looking forward to you managing to stay awake the whole day, of course.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass at the range,” said Clint, grinning at him.

“Sure,” said Bucky. “You keep believing that.”

Clint leaned in to kiss his cheek, then slumped against him, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “In a bit,” he said. “No point in rushing to get up, right?”

Bucky settled back into the pillows, letting the familiar smell of coffee and the warmth of Clint’s body against his relax him. “I guess not.” A lazy morning in bed sounded like an excellent idea.


End file.
